


Everything Old...

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [16]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Bajoran Culture, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Infidelity, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 04:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16486217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Bajoran society is rocked to its foundations by the return of Akorem Laan from the distant past to replace Captain Sisko as Emissary to the Prophets. Not a single part of the station is left untouched. Julian battles staff shortages and his own internal demons as he attempts to set things right with Leeta. In a climate of hostility and paranoia, no one is safe, not even Garak who sought to make Deep Space Nine his haven, only to find that havens can quickly become traps.





	Everything Old...

**Part I**  
   
_Don't throw the past away.  
You might need it some rainy day.  
Dreams can come true again,  
when everything old is new again.  
–Peter Allen, “Everything Old is New Again”  
   
Julian  
O'Brien's Quarters_  
   
After nearly an hour of packing away cable, burnt out parts, randomly appearing single socks and other articles of clothing Julian didn't really want to touch, much less look at too closely, he straightened and fixed Miles with a curious look. “Remind me again how I got roped into helping you clean up this mess,” he said.  
   
The chief snorted. “You helped make it. Besides, how many times have I let you crash here, crash being the operative word, after so much drink you couldn't find your own quarters, much less walk yourself there?”  
   
“Yes, yes,” Julian sighed and reached for a bolt small enough to choke Molly, tossing it into a box with all the other junk. He was trying his best not to have a bad attitude. It wasn't about the cleaning, after all, but about the reason for it, the return of Keiko and Molly on a permanent basis, Keiko's botanical survey on Bajor over after its extension. Miles was the only person on the station who truly shared his sense of fun and interest in the history of the British Isles and the culture surrounding it. They both knew that their nights of spending hours in the holosuite fighting the Battle of Britain or Quark's playing darts were over. “You'll be glad to see them,” he offered. He realized he wasn't going to succeed in making himself happy about the situation. It didn't mean he couldn't make Miles feel better.  
   
“Of course I will,” Miles said. “I'm tired of bein' shocked every time I see Molly at how much bigger she is and how many more words she knows. An' Keiko an' I have a lot of catching up to do. It'll be good for all of us.”  
   
“Exactly,” Julian said, forcing a smile. “I suppose it means I'll be spending more time with Leeta, too, particularly now that she's not being worked half to death by Quark.”  
   
Miles paused halfway in the act of tossing a part and pinned him with a keen look. “Y' don't sound too happy about that.”  
   
“Nonsense,” Julian said, turning away from him and looking for something else to toss in the box.  
   
The Irishman snorted. “Don't give me that. Julian, I know you too well. Every time I bring Leeta up lately, you act strange. Things not goin' well? The times I see th' two o' you out, you seem to be havin' a good time.”  
   
There was no way he could tell him the truth about Garak and what he had been doing. Miles hated Garak too much ever to give him objective advice. Worse, rumors could spread. He didn't want Leeta hearing about his indiscretion from a third party. However, the temptation to say something, maybe something less specific, was strong. “We should lift the sofa,” he said, “and check under it. Molly could reach a hand under there and find something unsafe. Or Keiko might try to move it while cleaning and realize you weren't as tidy as she thought.”  
   
“Uh huh,” he said, shaking his head. “Bein' cryptic won't let me help you. I have a successful relationship, even though we've had our share of problems. It's somethin' I do happen to know a little somethin' about.” The two of them lifted the sofa and set it back. The floor beneath seemed to be breeding its own special colony of dust tarantulas interspersed with random bits of circuitry, screws, and bolts. Both men made a face. “Hold that thought. I need to clean this up.”  
   
While Miles went to fetch the cleaning tube, Julian picked out the bits of metal from the filth and tossed them. He mulled whether he wanted to say anything, and if so, what he wanted to say. He knew he'd have to take care. Miles read him better than he gave him credit for. Underestimating him had already once come back to bite him. He wasn't in the habit of making the same mistake twice, except when it came to Garak, apparently. As far as the Cardassian was concerned, he had long ago lost count of their myriad mistakes or how many times they repeated them with creative variations.  
   
After the mess was clean and they had the couch back in place, he said, “I suppose I'm just a little confused. On one hand, I really care about her. On the other, I don't know that I want the same level of commitment she does.”  
   
“You're not confused,” Miles said with a shrug. “It sounds like you're clear about what you want. Have you been that clear with her?”  
   
He shook his head, his eyes sliding guiltily to the side.  
   
“Well, that's the problem,” Miles continued. “You can't lead somebody on in a relationship like that. If y' don't feel what she feels, you owe it t' her t' tell her and let her make her own decision about whether t' stay or move on.”  
   
“You're right,” he said, nodding. “It's not fair to keep her focused on me with a false premise. I just...how do you tell somebody that?”  
   
“Th' same way you told me,” Miles answered. “Straightforward an' honest. An' don't sit there an' feed her that line about bein' confused. I have yet t' meet a woman that doesn't have a bullshite meter that'd put any one o' ours t' shame. Now, I appreciate all th' help.” He turned and walked over to his sideboard, opened the cabinet beneath, and pulled out an unopened bottle of single malt. Turning, he offered it to Julian with a smile. “Been savin' this one for a while. I want you t' have it.”  
   
“Thank you, Chief,” he said, genuinely touched and taking the bottle.  
   
“Be off wit' you, then,” O'Brien added humorously. “I need t' start gettin' ready. These clean quarters won't mean a thing if I show up at th' airlock lookin' like a wild heathen.”  
   
“No, I imagine not,” the doctor said with a low laugh. “I'll catch up with you soon. Congratulations about their return.”  
   
“Thanks,” Miles said.  
   
If both of them were slightly forcing their smiles, Julian wasn't about to be the one to bring it up. He left in a hurry, the cool neck of the Scotch bottle a comfortable feel in his hand. He let the bottle swish against his leg as he walked for the turbolift, deep in thought. He contemplated what Garak would do and immediately set aside that line of thought. He already knew what Garak would do, the same thing he had been doing, carry on as though nothing was wrong or going on, a lie of omission. If asked, no doubt he'd come up with a very facile lie of commission, too. That wasn't the way to go, and he knew it.  
   
He was almost to the turbolift when he realized he had left behind his bomber jacket. “Damn,” he said aloud. He decided he'd go back for it some other time. Miles was probably already in the shower. He didn't need to delay him any further than he already had by staying hours longer in the holosuite than they intended. He returned to his quarters to change into more appropriate clothing and put away his gift before going to Leeta's quarters for dinner. She always teased him about his costumes to the point that if he could avoid wearing them around her, he did so.  
   
He dressed nicely and went through several speeches in his mind while he got ready. None of them sounded right. Was hurting her the right solution? Wasn't there some way to be somewhat truthful without blurting it all out? It wasn't as though Garak was a threat. He was perfectly fine with their arrangement, not pushing him to leave Leeta or make a decision.  _What if she pushes?_  He wondered. Would he be willing to give up what he was doing with Garak to stay with her? He didn't know, and he suspected that his uncertainty was a self created smoke screen to shield him from an uncomfortable truth.  
   
By the time he reached her quarters, his palms were sweating. He hailed her and stepped inside to find the table set and food being put out. She smiled brightly. “You have perfect timing,” she said. “I didn't want to try to hail you since I knew that the chief's family is coming back tonight, but I was really hoping we could eat together before I had to go on shift. Did you have a good time?”  
   
“We did,” he said. “We stayed too long and almost got Miles in a bind with cleaning up, but it was worth it. Do you want any help with anything?”  
   
“Just eating the food,” she said. “Go ahead and have a seat.”  
   
“You're in a good mood,” he observed, unsure if that was a good or a bad thing in light of what he wanted to say. She might receive things a little better being in a good mood, but he'd feel worse for having destroyed it.  
   
“Things have been so much better at the bar lately. You have no idea how much stress that was off my shoulders. I'm even going to be able to start setting aside a little every month now. A few of us are talking about trying to start an investment pool. Just us Bajorans. I know better than to try to do business with any of the Ferengi. They'd rob us blind and smile at us while doing it.”  
   
“Couldn't Rom give you some pointers?” he asked.  
   
She shook her head. “Rom is a brilliant engineer. Money isn't his strong suit. If it was, he wouldn't have been stuck working for Quark all those years. Once we have enough saved up, we intend to contract with somebody from the Ministry of Finance to help us decide what parts of the economy would be the soundest investments. I've heard that exports stand a chance of becoming a large growth sector.”  
   
She was so animated and enthusiastic, her dark eyes shining like twin gems. He struggled with himself to start the conversation he knew they needed to have. “I hate to change the subject abruptly,” he said, “but there's something that has been on my mind for a while now that I need to talk to you about.”  
   
“I'm listening,” she said, her expression growing more wary at his tone of voice. “I hope this isn't about my not wanting to borrow money from you or not wanting to talk much about my past.”  
   
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Although...I wonder if my attitude hasn't contributed to that reluctance.”  
   
“What attitude?” She tilted her head and took a bite of her food.  
   
He supposed he had been too good at hiding his distance and keeping his secrets. She really hadn't noticed anything, which made it all much more difficult to discuss. He had two false starts before asking, “Do you ever get the feeling we may be taking things a little too quickly?”  
   
“Not really,” she said with a one shouldered shrug. “We haven't even talked about moving in together or anything that drastic. Until recently, my work schedule kept us from seeing more than a couple of hours of each other at a time. Have I done or said something that makes you think I have unusual expectations of you?”  
   
“No,” he said carefully. He took a bite, too, and chewed it slowly, stalling as much as working up his courage. “We've never discussed...being exclusive, though.”  
   
She set her fork down and wiped her mouth with a frown. “You're right. We haven't. Julian, my job puts me in contact with a lot of men, and there's a level of flirtatiousness that's required of me to do the job well. I haven't extended that flirtatiousness beyond the parameters of the job or accepted any invitations to dates, not to say that there haven't been plenty. I was under the impression you wouldn't be happy if I did, and quite frankly, since we've gotten a little more serious, I haven't been tempted. Have you?”  
   
“I...” He took a deep breath and held it a moment before letting it out in a whoosh. “Actually, yes, I have,” he said.  
   
She folded her arms. “How long have you felt this way?”  
   
He wasn't sure how to answer that question. “For a while now,” he said. “I've wanted to bring it up before, but while you were going through everything with Quark, I didn't feel like it was the right time.”  
   
She seemed to give that some thought, the direction of her focus turning more inward. “I suppose I should thank you for that,” she said. “I was under enough stress then. That's true. What do you want? Why are we having this conversation? Are you asking me for permission to see somebody else while you're seeing me, wanting to find out where I see us heading? I'm having a hard time understanding where you're going with this.”  
   
“I wanted to be honest with you,” he said, barely able to hold her gaze.  
   
“I got that. To what end? Julian, this vagueness isn't like you, and given the subject matter, that makes me uncomfortable. Are you trying to break up with me? If you are, just say so.”  
   
“No, I'm not trying to break up with you. I don't want to. I like what we have, but...I just...I'm not sure I'm ready for it to be exclusive.” He knew he was bungling this badly, knew he was being a coward.  
   
“Who is it?” she asked the question he had desperately hoped that she wouldn't. “Dax?” Her voice sharpened with the name.  
   
“No, not Dax.” He had a sneaking suspicion she'd find that easier to swallow than the real culprit. “It's...Garak.”  
   
She let out a little bark of a laugh that didn't sound even slightly amused. “Wow,” she said, staring at him. “You do realize that's a bit more than just not being exclusive, don't you? Wanting to go back to your ex?”  
   
He shook his head. “I don't want to go back to him. I...I know that doesn't work.”  
   
“You know what else doesn't work?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “How do you humans put it? Having your bread and eating it, too?”  
   
“Cake,” he muttered.  
   
“Right,” she said, her eyes flashing hotly. “Thank you for that. I'd hate for you to misunderstand me. Having your cake and eating it, too. You want to string me and Garak along until you can make up your mind what you want. That doesn't work for me. Not at all, Julian. Garak doesn't strike me as the sort who'd accept that, either. He deserves better.”  
   
“He...has accepted it,” he said, wincing inwardly.  
   
Her mouth dropped open with an utterly incredulous look. It took her a few moments to gather herself enough to speak. “You discussed this with him first?” she asked, her usually soft voice whip crack sharp.  
   
“It wasn't exactly a discussion,” he breathed.  
   
She stood abruptly. “What exactly was it? No, on second thought, don't you dare answer that. I don't need details.” She marched for the door.  
   
“Where are you going?” he asked, standing also and stepping away from the table.  
   
“None of your business, but I can tell you one thing. I want you gone by the time I get back, and take your things with you if you don't want them incinerated.”  
   
_Garak  
Private Quarters_  
   
Garak hadn't been home five minutes when the door chime drew him from changing his tunic to something more comfortable. He finished tying the lounging robe before inquiring who was at the door and admitting her. “Ah, my dear, what a pleasant surprise. I was just...”  
   
She didn't let him get more out than that, crossing to him swiftly and striking him open handed on the cheek. The sharp crack of it seemed to ricochet in the close quarters. Her fury was palpable. “How dare you?” she said through gritted teeth. “How dare you smile at me and pretend to be my friend while doing Prophets know what with Julian behind my back?”  
   
Garak worked his jaw and surreptitiously tongued his lower molars to make sure none of them were loose. She packed quite a belt. He was glad it hadn't been a fist instead. “Do you want a facile justification,” he asked, “or would you simply like for me to allow you to vent your rage?”  
   
“The sad thing is,” she said, drawing herself up ramrod straight, “that I really liked you. I truly believed you were my friend. And while it hurts me that you would do something with my boyfriend behind my back, what hurts the most is that you'd keep smiling at me to my face and acting like nothing had changed. I'd at least be able to respect you if you spited me openly. The thing that makes me sick? I've defended you. You have no idea how many times the other girls have said things to me about the time I've spent with you, how many times I've said, 'He's not like the other Cardassians. He's a truly decent man.' I guess the joke's on me, and I really am as stupid and naïve as they said I was for ever trusting you.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and left him there, the hiss of his door an anticlimactic punctuation to her departure.  
   
He sighed and rubbed absently at his still stinging cheek. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, and if Julian had been able to keep his mouth shut, it wouldn't have happened. “Humans,” he growled under his breath. “Sentimental fools, every last one of them.”  
   
Too annoyed to focus on reading, he set up his Kotra board so that he could run through several advanced strategy exercises. He needed something interactive and challenging to keep him from stewing over the situation. He was certain that Julian would be along, if not that night, then some time soon, to bemoan what had happened. If he was to get through such a conversation without a completely venomous attitude, he knew he had to distance himself from his reaction.  _The sad thing is,_  he thought as he moved the first piece, _I liked her, too._  He had no expectation that she would ever understand or believe that he could view someone as a friend and do underhanded things to or around them. Few ever did understand such things about his people.  
   
As he moved the pieces across the board, he envisioned warships in three dimensional space, strikes and counter-strikes, bold captures, unconventional maneuvers. How differently might his life have gone had he been in Central Command? Despite the fact that he loathed so many of the old money military leaders, there was a certain appeal to a well executed plan, simple on the surface and layered beneath. Such thoughts led to a memory of Tain's last moments aboard the Bird of Prey before Odo knocked Garak out and stole him away. “He overreached,” he murmured to himself, knocking one of the last pieces gently off the board with the one he held in hand. “Forgot what he was. Who he was. There were many reasons for the Order not to possess military equipment, not simply because it would've made us too powerful.”  
   
That Cardassia was gone. Frustratingly, he didn't know enough of what had risen to take its place to know whether this was a reason to be glad or worried. He hadn't been impressed by what he had seen so far. They seemed too mired in internal power struggles to deal decisively with external threats. They had never been more weak or vulnerable in his lifetime, quite possibly. He realized he had lost taste for his exercise and set his piece aside. Going to the bar was out of the question. Leeta deserved her space without having him in her face. He'd have to give her some time to heal from that hurt before returning to Quark's during her work shift.  
   
Luckily, he kept himself stocked with kanar, rising and crossing to pour himself a drink. He was on his third when Julian chimed his door. It crossed his mind to leave him out there. Such passivity, however, really wasn't his way. “Enter,” he said more sharply than was his wont.  
   
Julian crossed his threshold and stopped just within, letting the door shut at his back. “I suppose she came to confront you,” he said after taking a quick look at his demeanor.  
   
“Yes,” he said.  
   
“What did she say?” he asked hesitantly.  
   
“She thanked me for taking you off her hands, because she has secretly been wanting to date Rom for months,” he answered with cloying sarcasm. “What do you think she said, you idiot?”  
   
Julian winced. “I deserved that,” he said.  
   
“Oh, please,” Garak sighed, throwing up a hand. “If you came here to feel sorry for yourself or to use my anger as a way to flagellate, I'd just as soon you left. I'm not interested in coddling you or satisfying your masochistic urges to flay your conscience. You are quite possibly one of the most selfish people I have ever known.” He paused to let that sink in. “I would remind you that I am Cardassian as I say this. I would remind you further that this is coming from me.”  
   
“I know cheating on her was selfish,” Julian snapped.  
   
“Cheating on her? Yes, that was selfish, but I'm talking about telling her. Why would you do such a thing? You hurt her for no good reason except to assuage your own guilt.”  
   
“That's not true. I...I wanted to give her the choice,” he said.  
   
“What choice?”  
   
“I didn't want her being with me on false pretenses. If she wanted to be exclusive, and I didn't, it wasn't fair of me to trick her into staying in an arrangement that wasn't what she thought it was.”  
   
“I see,” Garak said, shaking his head in disgust. “Much preferable for her to be miserable and know this truth of yours than happy. So, what brought this on? Did she ask you to move in with her? To marry you? No, wait, I know. She wanted you to move to Bajor with her.”  
   
“I don't appreciate your sarcasm. She didn't do anything. This was my decision. Miles said...”  
   
“Ah,  _Miles._ It all makes such perfect sense now. Did you tell him about us, too? Should I put a call to Dax so that the entire station can get in on this?” So much for Kotra taming his fires. He just had to get contemplative about Cardassia before the doctor arrived.  
   
“No, I didn't tell him about us. I just told him I didn't think I wanted to be exclusive to Leeta. Look, I don't understand why you're acting like this. If anything, I thought you'd probably be relieved,” he said, his brows low over narrowed eyes.  
   
“Relieved that you hurt an innocent woman who never did anything to either of us? If that's your view of my habitual emotional state, I'm shocked you want to be in the same room with me alone,” he said, setting his empty kanar glass down on his table. “I realize this may be difficult for you to understand, but try. You and I have both said on numerous occasions that when we step into the confines of a relationship, it doesn't work. Did it ever occur to you part of the reason I allowed what I allowed in the dressing room was  _because_  you were in another relationship, not in spite of it?  
   
“I can tell by your expression that it did not,” he continued. “I have no intention of flaunting a connection to you in front of Leeta, or anybody else on this station. The only thing this changes is that I'm now concerned that I made a mistake in allowing what I did, both because of its consequences for Leeta and your appalling lapse in discretion. I trusted that you'd be able to handle yourself. I couldn't have been more wrong.”  
   
“I can't believe you! How dare you stand there and get self-righteous with me? You're as guilty as I am.”  
   
“No, Doctor, I'm not. I would never have told her just so that I could make myself feel better about deceiving her, and that's where you and I differ tremendously.”  
   
“Don't 'Doctor' me, not right now,” Julian snapped, his eyes flashing.  
   
“Fine, Julian,” he said, already tired of this and wanting him to leave. “I can only surmise that you came here either hoping that I'd be glad to hear the news and therefore amenable to offering you...comfort,” he laced the word with a subtle hint of contempt and innuendo both, “or to attempt damage control. Either way, I have no interest in being cooperative tonight.”  
   
“You're not the only one thinking I made a mistake,” Julian said spitefully.  
   
Garak's smile was more of a sneer. “Now it's my turn to get some honesty?” he asked. “You're wanting to take a little kilo of flesh on your way out the door?” He spread his arms. “Do your best. Take a parting shot.”  
   
“You'd have to have a heart for me to hurt it,” he said. “I'm done with this. Sorry I bothered to try to give you the courtesy of being informed.”  
   
The tailor laughed harshly. “That's rich. The day I need to get my intelligence from  _you_  is the day I'll make sure somebody puts me out of my misery for being useless, ineffectual, and blind. If I wanted to spy on your people, do you honestly think I'd have ever approached a mere doctor? You didn't even have the foresight to understand your own girlfriend well enough to know she'd come straight to me after your pathetic confession. Why don't you run along while you still have a few tatters of dignity to trail behind you, or is it already too late for that?”  
   
Julian stalked from the quarters without another word, his face stiff and pale. Garak snorted another soft, derisive laugh at his back just as the door was closing. Not six hours after Julian's breach with Leeta, and already the two of them were back in familiar territory. He hoped the little idiot had it in him to patch things up with her. It was the only way he saw himself being able to abide his company at all after this.  
   
_Julian  
The Infirmary_  
   
Julian watched Major Kira and Captain Sisko escort his most recent patient out of the infirmary, the three still deep in conversation. “Akorem Laan,” he murmured. He had read the man's poetry when he was working to familiarize himself more with Bajoran culture. He was quite good, but more remarkably, he was a tremendously important literary figure in their history. Having seen Kira's reaction to meeting the man, he likened it to getting to meet Sir Francis Bacon, or perhaps Lord Byron.  
   
“Do you think it's true?” one of the Bajoran day nurse's questions cut into his thoughts.  
   
“What?” he asked, glancing away from the door and over to her.  
   
“That he's the Emissary,” she said a bit breathlessly, her hazel eyes wide.  
   
“I don't know,” he answered honestly. To the best of his ability, he had avoided talk of the captain's role in Bajor's spiritual life. As an officer and a member of Starfleet, the entire thing made him somewhat uncomfortable. He couldn't imagine how much worse it had been for the captain for these past few years. If Akorem's story was true, perhaps the wormhole aliens had decided that a Bajoran would make a better Emissary after all. “What I do know,” he said, offering her a slight smile, “is that whether he's the Emissary or not, we still have work to do today.” Taking the hint, she smiled and nodded, getting back to her duties.  
   
The rest of his work day was relatively uneventful, although he believed he'd be hard pressed to encounter anything else quite as remarkable as having a patient beamed into his infirmary not just from a solar ship like the captain and Jake had piloted to Cardassian space but from over two hundred years in the past. It was events such as this which reminded him of one of the main reasons he chose Deep Space Nine as his post. For a little while that day, he felt as he did the first time he set foot on the station, excited about all of the possibilities.  
   
As the end of his shift drew to a close, Nurse Frendel arrived. Julian told him of their unusual patient and stressed the need for discretion. Frendel seemed quite excited by the news, but there was something else in his dark eyes, a sort of mirth Julian had rarely seen. “What is it?” he asked the man. “You look like someone with exciting news of your own.”  
   
“Well,” the Bajoran said with an easy smile, “you didn't hear it from me, but I have it on very good authority that Mrs. O'Brien is pregnant.”  
   
“Really?” Julian's eyes widened. “That's wonderful news! Thanks for telling me, and mum's the word. I don't know where the rumor came from.” Grinning, he signed out and left for the evening, heading down to Quark's. He knew that Miles would be getting off soon, too, and likely passing by there. He wanted to have the opportunity to congratulate him. As soon as he saw him, he snagged him and dragged him into the bar for a drink.  
   
As was so often the case when pregnancies were announced, it seemed practically everyone had an experience or opinion, from Quark reminiscing about Nog's childhood to Worf's incredible discomfort with memories of delivering Molly, something that surprised Julian to no end. Yet, it was Miles' attitude that surprised him the most. Instead of the excitement he expected, the man seemed more apprehensive, possibly even disappointed. He understood his reasoning, having wanted more time with Keiko for going out and doing adult things. At the same time, he recalled his own lonely childhood and how often he wished for a sibling. Molly would be happier in the long run. He suspected the chief would, too, once he became used to the idea.  
   
He watched him leave and turned back toward the bar. Quark made his way back down and leaned closer. “For a man about to become a father for a second time, you'd think he'd show a little more enthusiasm,” he said, “instead of crying and moaning about not having enough time to spend with his fe-male. Don't get me wrong. Mrs. O'Brien is...delectable...”  
   
“Quark!” Julian said, scowling.  
   
“Oh, don't start,” Quark snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “Just because I hit on her that one time. I wasn't myself, mind you. Would you like for me to start reminding you of what they said about you and Major Kira after that little incident?”  
   
“No, I wouldn't,” he said firmly. “Besides, I wasn't talking about that. You don't go talking about another man's wife that way. It's disrespectful.”  
   
“Almost as disrespectful as cheating on your girlfriend with your ex,” Quark whispered, widening his eyes for emphasis. “Oh, yes, word gets around quickly on this station, Doctor. I don't think I need a lecture on morals from you, thank you very much. Hurting one of my best workers. If her productivity drops, I should find a way to charge you for it. I've been looking into the possibility.”  
   
Julian dropped his voice low, too. “Don't stand there and pretend you give a damn about Leeta, or anyone else in this bar,” he hissed. “You were more than happy to let her get evicted before your entire work force rebelled. I wonder what the FCA would think about your real solution?” He glared daggers.  
   
Quark put a hand up to his chest. “No need to get riled,” he said. “Nobody else will hear about what you did to Leeta from me. I was just making a point.”  
   
Julian glared a moment longer. “So was I,” he said tightly, slapping payment to the bar top and walking away. He needed to get out of there before Leeta came on shift anyway. He didn't want to upset her worse than he already had.  
   
Just as he exited, Nurse Frendel hailed him over his comm. “I'm sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but I need to speak with you in the infirmary.”  
   
“On my way,” he said, actually glad of the distraction. He found the man waiting for him in his office. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked, having the door shut behind him so that they could have some privacy.  
   
“It's not a problem, Sir, but we've just been informed that the new Emissary is scheduled to make his first public speech tomorrow morning on the Promenade in front of the temple. I know that usually at least twenty-six hours are expected for non-emergency rescheduling of personnel, but I thought, well...I hoped that we could make an exception for the Bajoran nurses and medics scheduled for tomorrow.”  
   
Julian nodded. “Yes, in this case, I don't see why not. Call Nurses Walzcek and Dubois and Medic Tarsen, and see if they can come in and cover for Jondell, Rankar, and Pol for the morning. If not, we can probably get away with being understaffed for an hour or two, unless there's an emergency.”  
   
“Thank you, Sir,” Frendel beamed.  
   
He turned for the door and paused. “This really means a lot to you, doesn't it? I don't think I've ever seen you so enthusiastic about anything.”  
   
“Permission to speak freely?” the man asked.  
   
“Of course,” Julian nodded. “You know I prefer my staff to speak their minds.”  
   
“Yes,” he said, “but I also know you're not entirely comfortable with our belief system, particularly as it pertains to your captain. I've always tried to respect that.”  
   
“I appreciate the consideration,” he said, “but it's not necessary. If I've given the impression that I don't want to hear your opinions regarding the captain, then I apologize. You're a damned good nurse. I wouldn't be able to keep this place running the way it does without you, which means I respect your opinions, even those that don't pertain directly to the infirmary.”  
   
The Bajoran relaxed somewhat and smiled again, this time with more warmth. “Thank you, Sir. That really means a lot to me. I respect you, too. Like most of my people, I've been pleased with the fulfillment of some of our prophecies of late. Your captain is important to us, but not without some controversy. I'm...relieved...that it seems perhaps the Prophets have sensed our confusion and division and sent us someone that all of Bajor can rally behind. No offense, Sir.”  
   
“None taken,” Julian said. “I confess the concept has caused me some personal discomfort and is also controversial with Starfleet. If Akorem is the new Emissary, there's a good possibility that many of these problems and conflicts will be solved.”  
   
“That's what I'm hoping,” the nurse said fervently.  
   
Julian smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “On that we're in full agreement. Make the schedule shifts, and contact me if there's any major hitch or an emergency. Otherwise, good night for real this time.”  
   
“Yes, Sir,” the man said, following him out of the office much more relaxed than when he entered.

**Part II**

_Garak  
The Promenade_  
   
He didn't often have reason to use the skills he developed at the Bamarren Institute, the rare ability to hide in plain sight, but it was exactly what he did as more and more Bajorans gathered outside the temple to hear their new Emissary for the first time. Someone needed to keep an eye and ear out for Cardassian interests. Who knew which way the wind might blow with a different hand guiding the hearts and minds of the volatile and sometimes fickle people? He didn't see Captain Sisko in the crowd, wise of him, he thought, yet Odo and Major Kira stood above the throng on the second floor. Of the Starfleeters, all he saw were a few in security gold. He didn't buy this feigned indifference. He imagined there were several nervous officers scattered throughout the station, probably watching the activity through the security feeds.  
   
The crowd broke into applause. Garak saw the man of the hour emerge from the temple doorway and ascend the podium set up for him. After the applause, a hush fell over the gathered, and Akorem began to speak. The more Garak heard, the more disquieted he felt.  _Here we go again,_  he thought, his reptilian eyes going flat at the talk of the great wound of the occupation and the return to the old ways.  
   
_The old ways,_  he thought contemptuously,  _the last refuge of the unimaginative and those lacking vision. You can't erase the past. If you try, you'll never even learn from it._  As uneasy as the old man's words made him, the crowd's reaction was worse. They were divided, some shouting and clapping their enthusiasm, others whispering and glancing at one another with furtive body language.  
   
He had heard and seen enough. For all the good it would do him, he determined he would report this back to the civilian government. They needed to understand that the climate on Bajor was shifting abruptly, not for the better. If they were wise and truly serious about the treaty, they should have sent a permanent liaison or made use of him for the job. He knew the people. Some of them even trusted him.  
   
When he reached his shop he closed and locked the doors. He didn't want interruptions. He quickly compiled his report and sent a scrambled, encrypted transmission. After he was done, he decided to leave the shop closed for the day. He didn't like what his instincts were telling him. He hadn't survived as long as he had by ignoring them. He made good use of the time in his stock room, working on orders until quitting time.  
   
On his way past the Replimat, he heard raised voices. His first instinct was not to get involved, but he recognized one of those voices as Leeta's. Stepping around the tables and chairs that were scattered at the entrance, he made his way further in just in time to see a man shove her out of her chair. “Hey!” she cried out more in surprise than pain, glaring at the man from the floor.  
   
“It's not my fault you don't know your place,” the Bajoran sneered.  
   
Garak approached so swiftly and silently that neither noticed him until he was practically on top of the now seated man. “Do you know the place for those who physically assault others on this station?” he asked pleasantly.  
   
“If you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of it, Cardassian,” the man sneered.  
   
“Or what?” Garak asked. “You'll shove me, too?” Although his tone of voice didn't change, he bored a hole in the man with his gaze. He noticed Leeta climbing to her feet in peripheral vision, not breaking his eye contact with the antagonist.  
   
“I don't need this,” the man said, standing abruptly and flinging the chair aside. “Who wants to eat here with the stench of spoonhead in the air?”  
   
Garak caught himself committing the features and clothing, even the earring, to memory and watching his path on his way out. Shaking himself from a bad habit and a worse impulse, he turned to eye Leeta. Although she attempted not to look shaken, he could tell that she was. She was also rubbing her wrist. “Are you all right?” he asked.  
   
She nodded tightly, her expression conflicted. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.  
   
“Leeta,” he began, but she cut him off.  
   
“Garak, please don't,” she said. “I'm not ready not to be angry with you.”  
   
He nodded. “I understand. At least let me have a look at that wrist.” She bit her lip, indecision flickering in her eyes, glanced toward the infirmary, and suddenly thrust it toward him without a word. He probed carefully with his fingers and manipulated it in its full range of motion. She winced painfully as he bent it back. “I think you have a sprain,” he said.  
   
“Can you wrap it?” she asked.  
   
It was on the tip of his tongue to send her to the infirmary. He knew she wouldn't go before it ever got out. He nodded assent. “You'll have to come with me to the shop.”  
   
She gestured for him to lead the way. He could feel her at his back as they walked, an angry presence, a burr of rough edged energy in his bio-electric periphery. Had he not known her as well as he did, he believed he couldn't have tolerated allowing her to stay behind him. He led her into his stock room and pulled out his emergency med kit.  
   
“Have you talked to him?” she asked the question to his back.  
   
“Yes,” he said, turning with the self-adhesive wrap.  
   
She held her arm out to him. “I'm sure the two of you will be very happy together,” she said, her voice brittle and glass edged.  
   
He carefully began to wrap the already swelling joint. “You'll have to tell me if it's too tight,” he said gently. He sighed, the conversation unwelcome but owed to her. “We're not together. We haven't been together since he left me.”  
   
“Don't lie to me, Garak,” she gritted. “It's insulting.”  
   
“I'm not lying,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet hers and holding it as surely as he held her wrist in one hand while wrapping with the other. “You're more angry at the deception than you are at anything else. I can tell that much.” He finished with the bandage and tested the hold then settled his free hand atop hers, sandwiching it between his. “I wasn't pretending to be your friend. I don't expect you to understand or to forgive me, but I do want you to know that.”  
   
“You lie to all your friends?” she asked, pulling her hand back gingerly.  
   
“Yes,” he said, “particularly the ones of which I'm fond.”  
   
“I don't understand that,” she said, sounding more confused than angry.  
   
“I know you don't,” he said, having no intention of explaining or justifying himself to her.  
   
“I wish I could tell when you're lying and when you're telling the truth. If you're actually some huge jerk pretending not to be, I know this isn't going to matter to you, but I don't want things to be this way. I don't want to feel knotted up inside or like I was used and made a fool of.”  
   
“I don't believe that Julian was using you. If he has been using anyone, it's me,” he said without any self-pity or rancor.  
   
“Why would you allow that?” Her anger returned, but he wondered if it was directed at him at all.  
   
“I prefer it to the alternatives,” he said simply.  
   
“I really want to stay mad at you,” she said. “It's harder than it should be, particularly when you save me from self-righteous fanatics.”  
   
“Was that incident because of Akorem's speech this morning?” he asked.  
   
“Yes,” she nodded. “I'm caste-less, the lowest of the low. It didn't matter that he had almost the entire place to choose from. He decided he wanted my specific chair and table. According to the old ways, that means I'm supposed to turn it over to him without a word of complaint. I shouldn't even make him sully himself by having to address me or look directly at me.”  
   
He frowned, no stranger to social stratification or what being at the bottom of the heap was like. He recalled all too well his work with Tolan in the Tarlak sector and the way they were so often ignored as though invisible by those paying their respects at the grand statues of the legates. “I think you need to be careful,” he said. “It may be different on Bajor, but on Cardassia, it's very difficult for those of low to no status to get justice for wrongs done by those who outrank them in importance. Today it's shoving out of a chair. Tomorrow it could be shoving out of an airlock.”  
   
“I've worked hard for everything I have. All my life I've worked hard. Now, some poet from the past comes along and declares none of that matters. I don't matter, just because I don't know my family name. The very occupation he says we need to heal from produced that situation for me, and hundreds if not thousands more just like me. Pretending it never happened may work fine for those of a D'Jarra they find desirable. It does nothing for the rest of us except piling upon yet another indignity and unfairness.” She stopped talking abruptly and focused on him again. “I have no business bringing all of this up to you. I'm sorry.”  
   
“No, I'm sorry,” he surprised himself in saying. It emerged from a part of him that rarely voiced itself, a part that Tain had never touched but Tolan had carefully cultivated, so carefully that not even Mila was aware of his efforts.  
   
She seemed to sense that he spoke of something larger than either of them or their recent division. “I didn't think I'd ever hear that from a Cardassian in a way I could believe.” She touched his cheek lightly with her undamaged hand and let it drop back to her side again. “If I ask you to promise me something and you do, can I trust you to keep your word?”  
   
“You do realize that I could very easily lie about that,” he warned her.  
   
“Yes, I do,” she said.  
   
“Ask,” he said abruptly, intensely uncomfortable with what had just happened and wanting to distance himself from it as quickly as he could. Tolan's path led to rocky ground and uncertain footing.  
   
“Promise me that if you think Julian is getting serious about trying to come back to you, or you think you really want him back, you'll tell me,” she said.  
   
“You're going back to him?” he asked.  
   
“I haven't decided. I'm still furious with him and hurt, way more hurt than I was by you. I won't pretend to understand what it is that pulls you two toward each other, and I really don't want details.” She paced the confines of the stock room and turned back to face him from a greater distance. “But even angry, I know he wouldn't do something like this lightly or on a whim, and neither would you. What do you know of our beliefs?”  
   
“A bit,” he said. He knew more than he wanted.  
   
“Then you know that a pagh's path can sometimes be convoluted and confusing and that sometimes paghs can be bound in ways that are impossible to ignore. It doesn't matter if you and Julian believe in it or not. That doesn't mean you aren't bound in some way.”  
   
He found the talk frustrating. It made him want to shake her. “Please, don't make excuses for us,” he said earnestly. “If you want to go back to Julian and give him another chance, do it because it's what you want. The same applies for if you wish to have me as your friend. See us for who and what we are. Don't use your beliefs to mitigate what either he or I did to you with the deception.”  
   
“I'm not,” she said. “I know it sounds that way to you. As you said earlier, I don't expect you to understand. Will you just promise to do as I've asked? Can you respect me enough to be honest with me if things change or deepen between you two?”  
   
“Yes,” he said. “I promise I'll do that if the two of you are together at the time it happens, not that I expect it.”  
   
“Thank you,” she said. “May I ask one more favor for now?”  
   
“Of course,” he said.  
   
“Would you please walk me to Quark's? I know it isn't far, but I...I suppose I'm still a little shaky from being assaulted like that.”  
   
“I will. I think you should press charges, though.”  
   
She shook her head. “I don't even know who it was.”  
   
“I got a very good look at him. I could easily identify him, and I saw what he did to you. That may be the new law of the land for Bajor, but there are still rules of conduct on this station that don't allow for that sort of violence. If you don't press charges, what's to stop the next one from coming along and doing the same thing or worse?” They walked out of his shop together, and he paused to have the computer lock up.  
   
“I could do that, yes, and then he or his friends could find ways to retaliate. I know how these things go, and I suspect that you do, too. While I appreciate your indignation on my behalf, I think I'll be better off letting it drop.”  
   
She had a point. More frustrated than he was that morning, he walked her in silence the rest of the short distance to Quark's. She visibly relaxed when they passed through the wide doorway. Garak knew that for all of his flaws, Quark wouldn't tolerate foolishness like what happened in the Replimat in his bar. She was safer there. “If you change your mind, just let me know,” he said.  
   
“I will. I'll let you know if I decide to talk to Julian, too. Do you think he actually cares about me?” she asked, somehow looking younger in her sudden vulnerability.  
   
“Yes, I do,” he said, not needing to lie.  
   
She nodded and withdrew from him, heading toward the back to prepare to start her shift. He watched until he could no longer see her and turned to go, much warier on his way home than he had been in a very long time. The entire way he mulled the assailant and the situation, a plan forming that he was positive would earn Odo's ire should he ever learn of it. He supposed he'd have to make certain Odo never found out.  
   
After ordering a mug of hot rokassa juice from his replicator, he sat at his terminal and got to business. The security files were harder to hack than the last time he pored through them. He had to credit Odo for staying on his toes and idly wondered if it was he or Quark who had tripped some alarm last time prompting the change, or if perhaps the changeling simply did it out of paranoia. He searched criminal files going all the way back to the end of the occupation and didn't see a mugshot of his man. It didn't mean he wasn't a criminal, of course. It simply meant he hadn't been caught for anything aboard the station and wasn't notorious enough on Bajor to be flagged.  
   
“Going to make me do this the hard way,” he murmured, sipping from his mug. “I believe I'm going to take offense at that.” The next set of files was easier to access, but the database was tremendous, and he had no simple way to narrow it down other than to key in some very broad parameters, adult male, brown hair, brown eyes, Bajoran. Pictures flipped by on his screen at a speed that would suit a Vulcan. Garak never blinked, watching them all. Almost two minutes later, he said, “Computer stop. Go back ten files.” A slightly younger version of his culprit appeared on his screen. After all of that, it was nothing to discover where he lived. A search of information on his quarters told him that at least officially, he lived alone. It was no guarantee.  
   
“Now,” he said, feeling very satisfied, “let's see where you work and who you work with. Family, either on the station or on Bajor...” Between speaking, he hummed lightly, thoroughly enjoying himself.  
   
Much later in the evening, he left his quarters with a small satchel slung over his shoulder. All was quiet in the H-ring, the lights low, the deep rumble of the station a soothing background noise he barely noticed. It was convenient that they shared the same ring. It made his job of getting there less likely to draw attention. He felt alive all over, every sense keyed and heightened. This was always a dangerous game to play, regardless of the target.  
   
Once outside the quarters, he fished a small tricorder from his bag and ran it. One life sign behind the wall where the bedroom should be, no movement to speak of, slightly lower respiration, temperature, and heart rate than one would expect of a Bajoran who was awake.  _Asleep. So obliging. It almost puts me in a more forgiving mood,_  he thought.  _Almost._  He turned it off again and tucked it neatly back into its separate pouch, the entire bag compartmentalized to prevent anything from clacking together inside.  
   
Cracking the door code and disabling the internal computer interface was nothing. He slipped silently into the dark quarters and waited. Did the hiss of the door awaken his quarry? He knew that some Bajoran's hearing was so keen as to seem unnatural to his people. He heard no stirring from the room beyond. The wait allowed his eyes to adjust to the starlight illuminating the quarters from the port and gave him time to take what he needed from his satchel by feel alone.  _Messy,_  he saw. He had to pick his way carefully around clutter on the floor. Oh, how he loathed disorder! His opinion of the man fell further.  
   
The bedroom door was open. He stepped through it very quickly and to the side, hugging the wall. Doorways were a danger zone, the place where one was most likely to be spotted. He saw a pale face above a rumpled blanket, the man asleep on his back. He smiled closed lipped and stepped forward. The first magnetic clamp in his thinly gloved hand clicked very softly as he set it into place at the underside of the bed platform. He froze and watched the slack face.  _Not even a twitch,_  he thought, still waiting a bit longer to be certain. Extending a fine wire from its tight spool, he snapped it into place in the small slots on the clamp designed just for that purpose and circled the foot of the bed, allowing the wire to extend and retract again to accommodate his movements.  
   
At the other side, he supported the wire gently beneath the fingers of one hand while setting a twin clamp with the other, still no reaction from his quarry. His next move was fast and precise, allowing the wire to pop down onto the bare neck while securing another end beneath the other clamp and using the snip on the spool to cut it to length. As expected, the man snapped awake from the sudden sting, only Garak's firm hand at his shoulder preventing him from slitting his own throat.  
   
“I see I have your attention,” he hissed softly.  
   
“Computer, lights!” the Bajoran croaked in a panic. Nothing happened.  
   
“No,” Garak said, tutting him. “We can't have that. You see, there's a place and time for everything, wouldn't you agree? Darkness suits this sort of activity.”  
   
“I don't know who you are, but I swear you'll pay for this,” the man growled. Although he attempted to sound menacing, Garak could hear the underlying waver in the bravado.  
   
“Oh, how rude of me not to introduce myself,” he said. “I'm the spoonhead. I'm surprised you couldn't tell by the smell, but I suppose your sensory lapse is understandable due to the circumstances.” He saw the chest rise sharply with the man's semi-panicked inhale. Good. He did fear Cardassians. Garak honestly didn't care why. “I'm going to take my hand off your shoulder. You'd be very wise not to try to move much. There's a wire across your throat taut enough to slit it if you try to sit up and thin enough to slice your fingers off if you're foolish enough to pry at it. You are, of course, welcome to test this for yourself.”  
   
He released his pressure and squatted back on his heels so that his face would be at the bed level, watching intently. “I'm glad to see you're not as stupid as your actions earlier this evening led me to believe.”  
   
“So this is revenge for that tun'jarra?” He sounded incredulous and a little outraged on top of his obvious fear.  
   
Garak chuckled low, an ugly sound. “Oh, no. You completely misunderstand. You see, I found the Emissary's speech quite inspiring. All that talk of a return to the old ways. Do you know that my people have something of a caste system, too? Hearing that talk made me homesick. It made me realize that I've been untrue to my calling, settling for the dull life of a simple tailor. Would you care to guess what  _my_  'D'Jarra' is?” he asked liltingly. Nothing but shallow breathing followed his query. “No?” He pressed gently on the wire with a gloved finger.  
   
“Y-you're an assassin,” the man yelped.  
   
Garak let up. “Rather crude, not entirely accurate, but close enough for my purposes, I suppose,” he said in a way that voiced disappointment. “You could, of course, report me to security. Once I leave this room, I have no real control over what you do. Knowing Odo, he's going to want more than your word to have me arrested, particularly after Leeta tells him how I prevented you from doing her further harm. As efficient as he is, a thorough investigation will still take him at least twenty-six hours, possibly more because I'm very good at covering my tracks. Do you have any idea what I could do in twenty-six hours? Think of the collateral damage of our little disagreement, your work detail in maintenance, cute little Jerra Revan in Dahkur Province.”  
   
The man swallowed heavily and a thin line of black appeared on his throat, all color leached from the room in the pale starlight. It trickled downward toward the mattress, and Garak watched him twitch. “Please,” he said, all bravado gone, only naked appeal left. “What do you want from me?”  
   
Garak leaned closer so that his breath would tickle the large curve of ear. “I've known people like you,” he whispered. “Frustrated little people who covet the power of others but don't have the...initiative...to seize any of their own. This return to the old ways must seem like a windfall from the Prophets for you, an excuse to tread on those lower on the rung by accident of birth or misfortune of the occupation. The way  _I_  understand it, and please, correct me if I'm wrong. I'm hardly a scholar of Bajoran history.  
   
“Yes, those of lower caste and the tun'jarra, those with no status at all, are expected to defer to their so-called betters, but you have a duty to them not to abuse them. I suggest you study your own texts, or I may find myself completely overwhelmed with nostalgia and have to pay your friends a visit before I come back to see you again. Do we understand each other?” he asked.  
   
“Yes,” the man said, his voice now starting to shake. Garak could see a sheen of sweat on the pale face. The stress of the situation was beginning to wear his victim down.  
   
“Another thing,” he said. “I find the term 'spoonhead' to be quite hurtful, and I can't seem to keep myself from lashing out when I'm hurt. Do you think I should see someone about that? Is it...normal?”  
   
“N...no. I mean yes! I mean, you don't need to see anyone. I...I apologize for offending you,” he said in a rush.  
   
“Apology accepted,” Garak said, sliding one hand down the man's arm until he reached his hand and bracing him at the shoulder with the other. He loosely clasped his fingers around his index finger and gave a sharp jerk. The Bajoran howled in pain, Garak's hand at his shoulder preventing further, graver injury to the pinned throat. “You sprained my friend's wrist,” he said coldly. “Shall I convey an apology to her as well?”  
   
“Ye-es,” came the ragged reply.  
   
“I'm happy to see you're more reasonable than I expected,” he said. He released the clamp closest to him and circled the bed to release the other, tucking everything neatly back into his pack. He wasn't at all surprised that the man didn't move. His eyes glittered as they tried to follow Garak's movements, but it was obvious to the Cardassian that it was too dark for the man to see him as anything more than a disconcerting shadow. “I'm leaving now. I do hope that you'll set a good example for all of your friends in how to behave toward those of lesser status than your own. The very best way to teach is by example. Good night.”  
   
He exited as quietly as he entered and took as much care returning to his quarters as he did upon leaving them. He knew there was a possibility his victim might do something stupid and actually file a report. It would be a shame if it came to that, as he didn't make idle threats. All in all, he believed the excursion was successful, even if it truly had left him feeling a bit nostalgic.

**Part III**

_Julian  
The Infirmary_  
   
Julian rubbed at his eyes and sat back in his office chair with a deep sigh. So far it was shaping up to be a completely wretched week, the fights with Leeta and Garak, never seeing Miles, the captain's strange orb shadow experience, and now this. He re-read the notice given him by Nurse Frendel, as though the power of wishful thinking alone could change the text. “A carpenter?” he asked aloud, tossing the notice back onto his desk. He was losing his best nurse because the man's birthright was carpentry? He wasn't the only Bajoran to depart the infirmary since the new Emissary's decree, but he was by far the most valuable one. The worst part about it was he had already been instructed by the captain not to interfere with any of these departures. He wasn't even allowed to speak to the man about it except to wish him well. It was a waste of natural talent and an education. It was a travesty.  
   
He ended his shift in a foul mood and tramped down to Quark's. What he needed was a good game of darts and a drink. What he found instead was Morn, who couldn't seem to hit the dart board to save his life. He had to give the Lurian credit for trying. However, he suspected he was doing it out of a sense of pity more than a desire to play. He could think of few worse things than being an object of pity of a bar fly. He held out hope that Miles would be able to make their usual holosuite reservation. Maybe they wouldn't be able to stay as long as normal, but it would be a nice way to unwind. He kept an eye toward the door while playing.  
   
“Chief!” he called the moment he saw him. He turned to Morn and the two Dabo girls who had been watching their woefully mismatched game. “Excuse me, please? I haven't seen Miles in a few days.”  
   
Morn waved him off with an air of amusement and turned, putting an arm around each woman to guide them with him toward the bar. Julian hurried past him to meet the engineer further down the counter. They caught up with small talk. He felt a surge of hope when his friend ordered a drink. It meant he didn't intend to run off right away. He was going to bring up the holosuite when Quark saved him the trouble. He tried his best not to let his face fall at Miles' polite refusal. He didn't care about the waste of money. He wanted his friend back. Feeling selfish for it didn't help, nor did thoughts of Garak's accusations about how he used the man. Miles drained his drink in a hurry and left for his family.  
   
Julian wondered if he shouldn't just get rip roaring drunk and let Morn help him stagger home at closing time. It seemed the right sort of night for it. Morose, he propped an elbow on the bar and rested his cheek on his fist. Mercifully, Quark left him alone except to take his drink orders. A couple of hours later, he caught a whiff of a familiar perfume just as Leeta discreetly claimed a seat next to his. She was dressed in one of her more conservative outfits, and he remembered she had this night off now. She rested both hands lightly on the counter, and he noticed a bandage on her left wrist. “What happened?” he blurted.  
   
She glanced at him. “It's fine,” she said, tucking it into her lap self-consciously.  
   
Quark took her order of spring wine and shot Julian a withering look as he said, “If he bothers you, let me know.”  
   
“He's fine,” she said. “I can handle things myself.”  
   
The Ferengi nodded and retreated a couple of seats down from them, making a point of showing that he was well within earshot as he washed a few glasses and restocked various garnishes from jars on lower shelves. Julian was in no mood for Quark's posturing. He turned to stand and find himself a table.  
   
Leeta stopped him with a light hand to his arm. “Are you sober enough to talk?” she asked.  
   
He nodded and glanced over his shoulder toward the bartender. “Not with an audience, though.”  
   
“No, of course not.” She accepted her glass from Quark and tipped her chin toward the balcony. “There are plenty of empty tables up there.”  
   
“Lead the way,” he said, now regretting the number of ales he had already consumed. He wasn't drunk, but he wasn't exactly sober, either. He followed her up the stairs and forced himself not to watch her as she ascended. He pulled her chair out for her and seated himself against the wall, a habit he picked up from Garak somewhere along the way.  
   
“I had a long talk with Garak a couple of days ago,” she said after he settled.  
   
He tightened his lips slightly. He could only imagine what the tailor had to say after their last exchange. It couldn't have been good. “Oh?” he said as neutrally as possible.  
   
“Yes,” she said, taking a dainty sip of her spring wine. “He's a hard person to stay angry with.”  
   
_Just great,_  he thought sourly.  _He won her over again so the two of them can present a united front._  “Is he?” he asked more harshly than he intended. “I wouldn't know.”  
   
She smiled faintly, her uninjured hand starting forward over the table top but stopping short of touching his. “I don't believe that. If anything, I think you know it better than anyone else.”  
   
“I'm deeply ashamed of what I did to you,” he said. “I should have talked to you first. I shouldn't have used your trouble at the bar as an excuse to hide things.”  
   
“You should be ashamed,” she agreed. “What you did was despicable. I have to think I share at least some of the responsibility for it, however.”  
   
“What?” He frowned deeply. “No. You can't blame yourself.”  
   
“I don't blame myself,” she clarified. “I do think that my stress and some other factors contributed to your feeling that you couldn't approach me about your doubts and confusion.”  
   
Guilt made him want to deny that, too, but it was the truth. He looked down into his pint glass and shrugged slightly. He couldn't bring himself to agree aloud.  
   
“I don't need you to spare my feelings. I think we've moved a little beyond that, don't you?” she asked, seeking his gaze. “What I want right now is your honesty.”  
   
“All right,” he said quietly. “It's true. I didn't know how to broach the subject with you, and I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn't understand. You'd think I was trying to go back to Garak. I was afraid of losing you, but I didn't have the right to hang onto you under false pretenses or deny you the choice of whether you wanted to be in a relationship with someone who couldn't just stay completely away from his ex.”  
   
Now she did touch his hand, her palm warm and soft. “If I hadn't talked to Garak, I'm not sure how much of what you just said I'd be able to believe. I'm not going to pretend I understand whatever bond the two of you have, but I do believe you when you say you're not trying to go back to the way things were for you. I don't think either of you understands it any more than I do, and that makes me feel bad for you. Being confused like that is difficult.”  
   
“Thank you,” he said. He didn't know what to think of what she was saying. He couldn't tell where she was going with it, and he was afraid to ask after everything he had already put her through. “I really am sorry,” he said, sincere and pained.  
   
“I know. I'm sorry, too. There haven't been many people in my life that I've ever trusted. You betrayed my trust. I need you to understand that.” Her grip on his hand tightened.  
   
He wondered if it would be possible to feel any lower than he did in that moment. He shut his eyes and nodded. “I understand,” he said. He wanted to get out of there and away from her. He stayed put because he felt he owed her that.  
   
“I really believe you do,” she said, releasing his hand and sitting back in her seat. She lifted her wine for another swallow. “I want to give us another chance.”  
   
“I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you correctly,” he said, his head spinning from more than ale.  
   
“You did. I don't want to leave you. I think what we have has potential. I'm not going to lie and tell you it's going to be easy or that I'll be able to trust you unquestioningly. You're going to have to be very open with me, particularly about the time you spend with Garak. Don't hide it from me or lie to me about it, and if your feelings change, you need to tell me.”  
   
“You don't have to worry about that,” he said, his turn to reach for her hand. “I don't think he'll ever have anything to do with me again, and I'm not even sure I'd want him to.”  
   
“For a doctor you can be very dim,” she chided him. “Neither of you is through with the other. I'm not sure what it would take for you to be. I don't think either of you knows.”  
   
“Why are you willing to accept this?” he asked, reeling inside. It was beyond any expectation he ever had, and it genuinely didn't make sense to him.  
   
“I know you're not spiritual, so I don't expect you to grasp my reasoning. It's...wrong...to interfere with the pagh path of another. You run the risk of stunting their spiritual growth and derailing them from their entire purpose. You and I have an enjoyable relationship, or at least we did before this came to a head. I get a lot out of it, and I like to think that you do, too. You and Garak have something else. I believe it's deeper than either of you realizes or is capable of acknowledging. I think it has to do with your souls, as your people might put it, and I don't care one whit if you don't believe in that sort of thing. I do, and it's why I can accept this. What I can't accept is more dishonesty. Are you willing to make another effort, or do you want to part ways?”  
   
For a moment, he didn't trust his voice. Had he ever been treated with such genuine kindness and a lack of selfishness? He truly didn't believe so. She deserved so much better, and yet she wanted him. “I want to be with you,” he said. “I never stopped wanting to be with you. You have my word that I won't hurt you like that again.”  
   
“I'm going to hold you to that,” she said, giving his hand a final squeeze and withdrawing from him. “We can talk more tomorrow. I'd like for you to try to talk to Garak tonight so that you can tell me what to expect then.”  
   
“What if he won't talk to me?” he asked.  
   
“Then you can tell me that,” she said, standing and moving to lean over to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for being willing to talk to me and work through this. I know it wasn't any easier for you than it was for me. Come by my quarters around noon. I'll be awake by then.”  
   
“I will,” he said, also standing. If he was going to try to talk to Garak, he didn't need any more ale in his system. “I'll walk you part way.” She nodded, and they left together from the upper level exit. He still could hardly believe the conversation they just had, and he couldn't help but to wonder if he was possibly being played in some way. He quickly set that thought aside. Leeta was intelligent enough to do something like that, but she wasn't spiteful or petty. She wasn't the first Bajoran he had met with a stunning generosity of spirit. It was just the first time he had been the direct beneficiary of it.  
   
His stop on the turbolift came first. He cupped her cheek lightly, bade her good night, and stepped off onto Garak's H-ring. He had no idea what he was going to say. He hesitated outside the quarters, finally biting the bullet and triggering the hail.  _What's the worse that can happen?_  He asked himself. The thought wasn't nearly as reassuring as he meant for it to be.  
   
“Enter,” came Garak's voice, the tone the neutral equivalent of his business face.  
   
Julian stepped inside, certain only of the fact that he didn't want to deal with Garak's facade. He took him in at a glance, the lounging robe, the PADD in hand, the tea to the side, and the bright, inquisitive gaze that revealed nothing whatsoever. He tried to call to himself the feeling he had the night he made love to the man, but it stubbornly refused to come. There was a thick wall between the two of them, and the top of it was barbed.  _So I impale myself,_  he thought grimly. “Leeta came to me,” he said.  
   
“Is her wrist broken?” Garak asked.  
   
“No,” he said, not having expected that. Garak had something to do with that? He narrowed his eyes slightly. “At least I don't think it is. She didn't come to me for treatment. She came to talk. What happened to her wrist?”  
   
“You'd have to ask her,” the tailor said offhandedly.  
   
“I did. She was less than forthcoming.”  
   
Garak shrugged and set aside his PADD.  
   
_Don't let him pick a fight,_  he told himself. “She said she talked to you. You can imagine my surprise when it seemed as though it wasn't another unpleasant conversation.”  
   
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I imagine you were quite surprised.”  
   
_Sarcasm. Joy._  “She didn't come out and expressly say it, but I have the impression that in part I have you to thank for the fact that she's not leaving me,” he pressed on with determination.  
   
“So you're here to thank me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.  
   
He wasn't fooled by the mild tone of voice. He saw the glint in his eyes. “No. I'm here to find out if that last fight of ours was more than just another stupid fight.”  
   
“She sent you?” he asked drolly.  
   
“Yes,” he said, crossing to sink into the chair catty corner to the sofa. “If I had my preference, I would've stayed away from you at least a week before finding some pathetic excuse to crawl back into your good graces.”  
   
“It's not like you to be so bitter,” Garak said, eying him curiously.  
   
“It's been a rough week,” he said, coming off the ale enough to feel bone tired.  
   
“The return of Bajor to the old ways?” the tailor asked.  
   
Julian nodded, leaning forward and resting his face in his hands to shut out the light. “I think I'm going to lose my entire Bajoran staff to it before all is said and done. I just found out I'm losing Frendel. He was a lifesaver after Decla left, easily as competent as she was without the personality problems. Thanks to the Dominion threat, there aren't many in Starfleet medical willing to put in for an assignment here, and so far, brass isn't pushing the issue. That means an overworked, cranky staff who may or may not be able to handle a large influx of casualties should the worst happen.”  
   
Garak sighed through his nose. “As much as it pains me to have to do this, I'll remove myself from your list of worries. I still think you were stupid to tell Leeta what you did, and some of the things you said to me afterward were ridiculous, but it looks to me as though you're experiencing enough of a coal raking that I don't have to do it myself.”  
   
He laughed into his hands and finally lifted his gaze, squinting against the light. “You're insufferable, easily one of the most infuriating people I've ever met. I'd remind you, I'm a Starfleet officer saying this. I'd remind you further this is coming from me.”  
   
“Two things I will keep firmly in mind,” Garak said, his eyes twinkling. “I'd offer to let you spend the night, but I think that would be pushing things with dear Leeta. If you hurt that woman again, I'm going to be more than a little angry with you.”  
   
“You and I both,” he said, shaking his head. “I can't believe she wants anything to do with me. Or you, for that matter. I don't think I'd be able to be so forgiving, or allowing.” Garak eyed him oddly. “What?” he asked.  
   
“Considering what you've forgiven and allowed me, I believe you may be underestimating yourself, dear.”  
   
“Help me up,” he said, holding both hands out toward him.  
   
Obligingly, Garak stood and pulled him to his feet. Julian allowed the momentum to carry him forward so that he rested against him, wrapping his arms beneath Garak's about his broad ribcage. He smiled against the side of his head when Garak returned the gesture and held him. “Leeta was right about you. You're difficult to stay mad at.”  
   
Garak grunted softly. “Both of you are entirely too sentimental for your own good.”  
   
“Then I suppose you're fortunate,” he said, turning to kiss his temple lightly. “Now, be a gentleman and send me on my way so I can go collapse into bed disreputably still in my uniform and sleep off the ale I drank while feeling sorry for myself.”  
   
The tailor tangled fingers into his hair and kissed him so tenderly it stole his breath. “Get out,” he said without a trace of heat. “I don't like uninvited guests. You've bothered me enough for one night.” He kissed him a second time and guided him toward his door with an arm snaked low at his waist.  
   
“You're a dreadful host,” he retorted in kind, fighting the smile trying to toy with his lips. “You didn't even offer me a drink.”  
   
“You had more than enough before imposing on me,” he said.  
   
Julian couldn't resist a nuzzle at the hollow of a neck ridge, one of his very favorite places. “All right,” he said as the door slid open, straightening and pulling away. “You've succeeded in kicking me out. I'll try to talk to you tomorrow.”  
   
“Make sure you're sober first. I can't abide a drunkard,” Garak said very primly just before the door shut.  
   
Smiling to himself, he started down the corridor. How an evening could begin on such a miserable note and end on such an uplifting one was a complete mystery to him, as was how he somehow managed to circumvent both of their defensiveness enough to get through to the tailor. “It's much harder to understand than temporal mechanics,” he said aloud and chuckled. Perhaps he'd sleep well that night after all. It would make dealing with the infirmary woes a little easier.  
   
_Garak  
The Promenade_  
   
Taking a slightly late lunch, Garak had just left his shop when he heard a shriek. He trotted back through his doors to grab his weapon and advanced cautiously in the direction of the sound. Several Bajorans and a few other aliens were gathered in a small knot around something he couldn't see. He noticed the head of the station temple serenely descending the stairs just as the security detail arrived to drive everyone back.  
   
Making himself inconspicuous, he waited and listened. When the crowd parted, he saw a vedek lying on the deck of the Promenade, his head at an angle that left no doubt his neck was broken. Garak's gaze tracked back to the temple head, Vedek Porta, he believed. He narrowed his eyes. He had seen that sort of serenity before, the calm conscience of the self-righteous.  
   
Captain Sisko and Major Kira arrived. Garak didn't stay to hear the totality of Porta's confession. He didn't need to. Tucking his weapon discreetly into the back of his belt, he made his way past the crowd and ducked into the infirmary. A weary looking Starfleet nurse he knew by face but not name said, “If you're looking for Doctor Bashir, I think he went to have lunch with Leeta.”  
   
“Thank you,” Garak said and bee-lined for the turbolift. Normally, he wouldn't consider intruding upon them. What he had seen filled him with an urgency he hadn't known in some time. By the time he reached Leeta's quarters, he had begun to jog. He rang the chime twice in rapid succession.  
   
“Enter,” Leeta's voice came through the comm, sounding a little perplexed.  
   
Garak stepped inside to see both of them seated at her dinner table, halfway through a meal. “I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your lunch, but both of you need to know Vedek Porta just murdered another vedek.”  
   
“What?” they both said in tandem.  
   
Julian started from his seat, and Leeta went pale. “Why wasn't I called?” Julian asked.  
   
“Because it's a crime scene, and a dead man doesn't need a doctor,” Garak snapped harshly. He reined himself in. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”  
   
“I thought Vedek Porta was a good man,” Leeta said, completely stunned.  
   
“I think he thinks so, too,” Garak said dryly. “He showed no remorse either to Odo or Captain Sisko. I believe we're seeing more of old Bajor coming back to life.”  
   
He was glad that both of them seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. Julian glanced at Leeta. “I'm worried for your safety,” he said.  
   
She looked as though she might be sick. “I am, too,” she said, lifting a hand to her throat.  
   
Garak took his pistol from his belt and offered it to her. “I believe you'd do well to carry this.”  
   
She shook her head. “No. I don't think I could hit the broad side of a telgos' behind if I was dead calm and had time to aim. I'd be more danger to myself than anyone else with one of those, but thank you, Garak.”  
   
Garak glanced at Julian, silent communication passing between the two of them. “We're going to keep you safe,” Julian said.  
   
She looked between the two. “Won't that get both of you in trouble? You're not supposed to interfere in local matters,” she said to Julian. “And your people have a treaty with mine,” she added to Garak.  
   
“I don't consider your safety a local matter,” Julian said tightly. “If that means I get in trouble, then fine. I get into trouble. I'll sooner resign my commission and face the consequences than stand by and allow some pompous idiot to abuse you just because you don't have a D'Jarra.”  
   
“I'm not known either for being particularly cooperative or obedient among my people,” Garak said lightly. “They've come to expect me to be an embarrassment. I'd hate to disappoint them.”  
   
“This is all so insane,” she said, clasping both hands tightly in her lap and twisting her fingers. “I've always been proud of my people and how it seems like no matter what happens, we manage to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and keep going. This going backwards is shameful. I can't imagine that this is what the Prophets intended for us, separation from potential allies like the Federation, subjugation of large segments of our population, not by an outside threat, but from within, people turning away from life paths they find fulfilling and rewarding to follow the dictates of their names. Maybe it was different when it had always been that way. People were used to it. But this?”  
   
“I can't see Captain Sisko standing by and allowing this to go unanswered,” Julian said.  
   
Garak joined them at the table without having to be asked. “What can he do? He willingly stepped aside as Emissary. He no longer has any more influence than any other Starfleeter on the Bajorans. The way I see it, things are going to get much worse before they get better. Those who can't or won't abide by this return to the old ways will be pitted against those who have something to gain from it. It'll be a holy war before all is said and done.”  
   
Leeta nodded reluctantly. “He's right. We were only just starting to unify a little bit under First Minister Shakaar. A large part of the reason my people were willing to accept progress toward Federation membership was because of Captain Sisko's status as the Emissary. Now that Akorem is back, Kai Winn's influence has expanded by leaps and bounds. She has never been supportive of outsiders interfering with Bajor's development.” She glanced at Garak. “You'd better keep that weapon of yours close for your own sake. I don't know how much longer the treaty with Cardassia will be honored at this rate or what they might decide to try to do to you if it's broken.”  
   
“My safety has never been much of a certain thing,” he said with a shrug. “I'd advise you not to travel alone. I'll make myself available to you while Julian has to work. My schedule is more flexible than his. You should also have a talk with Quark. I know he won't allow that nonsense in his bar. It would be bad for business.”  
   
“When I'm off, I'm at your disposal,” Julian added.  
   
“Normally, I'd find this whole, 'protect the woman' attitude annoying,” she said, trying to smile and not quite succeeding. “Considering the situation, all I can say is a heartfelt thank you. I mean...I can't live like this indefinitely, but I can start saving up money to leave. Lissepia isn't such a bad place, I've heard.”  
   
“Give Captain Sisko a chance to try to resolve this before making plans to move,” Julian said. Garak privately thought his faith in the captain might be overblown but was wise enough to keep his own counsel about that. “As you said, your people have weathered terrible times and come out stronger in the end. Maybe this won't go as badly as it seems it might.”  
   
“Maybe,” she echoed as uncertainly as Garak felt.  
   
Julian looked to each of them. “I hate to do it, but I need to get back to work. I'm sure they're going to want me for the autopsy. If I hear any news one way or the other, I'll let you two know.” He stood and hurried out of the quarters.  
   
“Would you like some lunch?” Leeta asked.  
   
“Strangely enough, I've lost my appetite,” he said.  
   
She nodded. “Me, too. Would it bother you if I went to the back and rested for a while? I feel a headache coming on. I want to try to head it off before I have to get ready for work. You're welcome to help yourself to the replicator if you get hungry later, and I've got all sorts of books on PADDs. I feel...ungracious...leaving you out here like this when you're doing me such a favor.”  
   
“Nonsense. I'm not here in the capacity of house guest, so don't feel as though you're obligated to treat me as such. I may rest, myself, on your couch. If I'm asleep when you come out to leave for work, awaken me.”  
   
“I'll do that,” she said, standing and quickly clearing the table. Garak got out of her way and settled himself on the sofa. She paused behind him, pressing a light hand to his shoulder and giving a squeeze before heading into the bedroom and shutting the door. Despite what he told her, he knew he wouldn't sleep. His supposed safe haven was no longer safe. For all of his cleverness, his refuge had become a trap, and he had no idea what to do about it.

**Part IV**

_Julian  
The Infirmary_  
   
The entire situation seemed unreal. Murder aboard the station was extremely rare, usually the result of some underhanded or illegal dealing gone bad or the occasional result of domestic violence. He performed the autopsy with his usual sense of detachment because it was his job. However, it didn't stop him from thinking about the circumstances of the death and the ugly climate that had permeated the station in just a matter of days from Akorem's announcement. He didn't buy the will of the Prophets rubbish. In his private opinion, non-linear aliens simply had no concept of time or the consequences of jumbling the time line. Who knew why they brought Akorem to the present, or if they had any reason at all other than to see what might happen?  
   
It didn't take him very long to be able to determine the cause of death for certain, broken neck from the fall leading to rapid asphyxiation from total body paralysis. Fortunately, it seemed as though he lost consciousness upon impact. He entered his official findings for the record, stripped out of the red scrubs, and put the body in cold storage for evidence in the murder case. He was down to one nurse and one medic for the shift, both of them grim and silent. He wondered if they'd try to put in for a transfer soon. He wondered if Starfleet would pull all of them out of the sector within the year. The only positive he had to focus on in the moment was knowing Garak was with Leeta. He couldn't think of anyone better suited to keeping her safe.  
   
“Sir,” his nurse approached him hesitantly.  
   
He glanced up from the report he was writing. “Yes?”  
   
“Aside from the murder, we had an incident at lunch,” she said.  
   
“What sort of incident?” he asked, thinking silently,  _What now?_  
   
“You remember a family had an appointment to bring their two children in for routine vaccinations?”  
   
“Yes,” he said, nodding.  
   
“Someone from a higher caste walked in complaining of a rash and became irate when we refused to see him first. He said he's going to file a complaint with the Bajoran government. I was wondering what our official policy is going to be on this?”  
   
He wanted to hit something. He genuinely wanted to hit something, his fists balling tightly. “Our official policy, Nurse, is that Starfleet doesn't operate under a caste system. Since the majority of our Bajoran staff has quit, this is a Starfleet medical facility, and it will be run as such. Tell them next time if they have a complaint to tender it to Starfleet, because we don't look to the Bajoran government for guidance on how we conduct our business.”  
   
She smiled slightly and nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, Sir!” she said. “Before I forget, we also received three more Bajoran resumes.”  
   
“This should be good for a laugh,” he said. “Are they in my office?”  
   
“Yes, Sir.”  
   
He retreated to the back and sat at his desk. As he expected, all of them were Belans, Belan Dar, Belan Rasheek, and Belan Pema. Healer caste. “Oh, this is promising,” he said wryly. “Thirty years on a farm in Lonar Province. Experience with wild herb craft, harvesting and preparation. Or how about this one? No formal education, but eager to learn. Oh, quite possibly my favorite yet. 'I've always known I had a special calling. It's the Prophet's blessing that I now know what it is. Please give me the chance to fulfill my pagh path. You won't regret it.' Perhaps not, but I imagine my patients soon would.”  
   
The male medic ducked his head into the office. “Sorry, Sir, did you say something?”  
   
“I was just talking to myself,” he sighed, “apparently loudly. I'll try my best to keep it down.”  
   
An hour later he was summoned to the wardroom. He felt guilty about it, but he was relieved to get out of the oppressive environment of the infirmary, if only for a little while. He met up with Dax on the way. She wasn't her usual mischievous self, rather quiet and looking tired. “You've looked better,” she told him.  
   
“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” he said. “Short staffing?”  
   
She nodded. “In the worst way. We've now got a backlog of at least half a dozen necessary experiments. That's not counting things that are lower priority. For some of the work, we don't have enough people to man all the stations, so we're having to double up and hope we don't miss anything important. I can't imagine what it's like for you in the infirmary.”  
   
“You don't want to,” he said. “I'm down to a skeleton crew. I had three nightmares last night, all about the same thing. We're overrun with Jem'Hadar and Klingons, and there's a constant stream of people with horrific injuries being brought into the infirmary. The only instrument I have is an old fashioned scalpel which I keep waving around like a concert director, trying to get three zombies to do my bidding.”  
   
Dax tried not to laugh but couldn't quite stop herself. “Oh, Julian, that's awful,” she said, wrapping an arm at his waist and lightly bumping the side of her head against his.  
   
“If I weren't really that anxious, I'd find it funny, too,” he said. “I'm glad at least one of us can get something of entertainment value out of it.”  
   
She released him before they entered the wardroom. He had been glad of the comfort. They both took their seats and realized they were only waiting for Chief O'Brien, Major Kira, and Captain Sisko. Commander Worf, Lieutenant Commander Eddington, and Odo nodded to them. None seemed inclined to speak, so Julian took his cue from them.  
   
Captain Sisko arrived with the major and quickly took a seat. “Chief O'Brien can't get away for this, unfortunately. He's a bit understaffed.” He nodded his understanding at the various grunts and displeased looks from around the table. “I'm aware we're all suffering the same problem.” Kira looked strangely guilty and refused to meet anyone's gaze. “In light of this recent murder and the Bajoran government's inadequate response, I feel as though I have no choice but to fly with Akorem Laan into the wormhole and find out what the Prophets really want.”  
   
A chorus of protests immediately rose from everyone else at the table with the exception of Kira. Julian couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Captain, as Chief Medical Officer I really must object. What you're proposing...”  
   
Sisko cut them all off with a sharp chop of his hand. “I know,” he said sternly. “Every single one of you has a valid point, and I'm well aware of the risk I'm taking. I can't just sit by and watch three years of hard work and progress flushed down the toilet in a matter of days based on the words of some ancient poet from two hundred years ago. Now, the way I see it, the only ones who can tell us what they're really thinking are the wormhole aliens themselves. If I don't do this now, Bajor and this station are going to descend into chaos and possible civil war. I will be leaving within the hour. Commander Worf, you'll have the station.”  
   
Although he looked reluctant, Worf nodded. “Aye, Sir.”  
   
“As for the rest of you, I expect you to continue doing your very best with your short staffing and aid Mister Worf in any way you can. For good or ill, I'm hoping I can bring us an answer within the next twenty-six hours. Dismissed.”  
   
No one lingered after the meeting, as none of them had the luxury of the spare time. Julian was in no mood to talk on his way back to the infirmary. He had no reason to trust the wormhole aliens not to do away with the captain altogether if they had decided to back Akorem. While he knew Worf was capable of short term command, he worried about the long term effects on morale of everyone being under such a stern, unapproachable task master, particularly with the staffing issues. He really wished that Miles could have made it to the meeting. The bluff engineer had a way of putting things into perspective that made even the worst case scenarios not look quite so bad.  
   
They saw two more patients before his day was done. Fortunately neither arrived at the same time, so caste wasn't an issue. One had a broken finger that seemed to have gone untreated for a few days. He was less than talkative about the circumstances. Julian gave him an antibiotic for a mild bone infection that had set in, broke and set the bone properly, and gave him pain medication. He noticed a suspicious cut across his throat, long since scabbed over and healing. Of that the man refused to speak at all. The other patient was another rash case. He wondered if stress might be getting to some of the people, because he could find no easy cause of the skin irritation. He prescribed a cream and sent the itchy woman on her way.  
   
As soon as his relief arrived, he hurried back to Leeta's quarters. She was dressed for work, and she and Garak had their heads bent over a game board. He drew closer and discovered they were playing Kotra. “I had no idea you knew how to play Kotra,” he said to Leeta.  
   
“I don't,” she answered. “Garak is trying to teach me. Operative word, trying.”  
   
“You're too hard on yourself, my dear. It's a complex game that takes years to master. You grasped the rules more quickly than many I've instructed in the past. Improvement comes with time and practice,” Garak said. He straightened his back and twisted a stretch, looking at Julian. “You seem to have news,” he said.  
   
“I do.” He pulled up a chair and straddled it backward, resting his forearms on the back in a loose fold. “I can't say I think it's good news, I'm afraid. Captain Sisko is going to enter the wormhole with Akorem so that they can ask the wormhole aliens directly what they really want for Bajor.”  
   
“Well, that's good,” Leeta said, glancing sharply at him. “If there's confusion, go straight to the source. Why do you think this is a bad thing?”  
   
“What if their answer is that this is what they actually do intend for Bajor?” he asked. “What if they decide the captain is a dangerous distraction? They could do anything to him. We could never see him again.”  
   
Garak broke in before things could get heated. “Let's...not excite ourselves with what ifs,” he suggested. “Captain Sisko has returned from all of his encounters with the aliens so far. They've never seemed particularly malicious or spiteful, just...mysterious, correct?”  
   
Julian grudgingly agreed.  
   
“Regardless of the outcome, one thing we will be able to say is that there will be no more confusion or potential for varying interpretations, assuming they return with an answer at all. In its own way, that is progress, Doctor.”  
   
Leeta gave a satisfied nod. “I'm glad he's doing it,” she said. “I'm glad somebody has the guts to challenge the status quo. Considering you look like somebody dragged you down the Promenade behind a rampaging rakazo, I'm going to ask Garak to escort me to work and ask you to get some sleep,” she said, leaning over and kissing Julian's cheek.  
   
He was too tired to argue. The three of them left the quarters together and parted ways in the H-ring. Julian promised he would talk to both of them later. At home he was too tired to remove his uniform, simply flopping into his bed and going dead to the world within minutes. The last waking thought he had was,  _Two straight days in this uniform without a change. Somebody's about to get a little ripe.  
   
Garak  
The Promenade_  
   
Garak had an odd sense of symmetry of events as he watched Captain Sisko ascend the podium before the Bajoran temple. His arrival back on the station the evening before without Akorem sent shock waves through the Bajoran populace that still hadn't settled. He imagined this speech was designed to do just that, settle the people and get them back on track, whatever that might entail.  
   
As he listened to the mellifluous voice, he also watched the captain's expression and body language. He was relaxed, serene. He was a man no longer divided within himself. For good or ill, it seemed that Sisko had finally accepted his role as Bajor's Emissary. Although he wasn't sure what that meant for Bajor or indirectly Cardassia, Garak couldn't help but to believe that this was better than the alternative that had been presented. Seeing a caste system from the outside had opened his eyes to some ugly truths about his own people. For one of the first times ever, he felt grateful to be at a distance from his homeworld so that he would have the luxury of processing his new-found insight without being accused of sedition. At the end of the speech, he applauded right along with the Bajoran throng no less enthusiastically than the least among them. The caste system was no more.  
   
_Julian  
Quark's Bar_  
   
Julian accepted his ale from Quark with a grin and turned to survey the crowd from his vantage. He still felt a small thrum of adrenaline from the fracas in the holosuite, he and Chief O'Brien against the entire court of the King of Leinster in a brawl to end all brawls. Others could say they looked ridiculous if they liked. He thought that he and Miles cut fine figures in their Irish warrior regalia. He couldn't believe how quickly everything had turned around. If anyone had asked him two days ago if he thought he'd be spending a fun evening with his friend, have a full staff at the infirmary, and no longer have to worry about some hothead murdering his girlfriend for looking at him wrong, he would have scoffed.  
   
Keiko's intervention on behalf of her depressed husband just couldn't have had better timing. Of course, he would never let Miles know that he had been told how he felt. That would just embarrass him. The stress release of being able to cut loose and just have fun was pure balm to his spirit. He slouched shoulder to shoulder against the engineer and toasted Leeta with his tankard. She smiled brightly at him from her place at the Dabo wheel and rolled her eyes playfully.  _You look silly,_  she mouthed.  
   
“Looks like things are better for you,” Miles observed. “Bein' honest paid off, didn't it?”  
   
Julian beamed at him. “More than you can possibly imagine.”

**Author's Note:**

> First posted to LiveJournal on April 21, 2010, this story is set during the episode “Accession.” It was one of the creepier episodes to me, the whole idea that on the word of one person speaking with supposed divine authority an entire society could be taken back two hundred years and return to a form of oppression that rivaled the occupation in its own grim way. It seems to me that DS9, unlike some of the other Trek series, just keeps getting more relevant over time, not less.


End file.
